Gabbi & I both come from a long line of speed-eaters. We eat fast, our parents eat fast, their parents probably ate fast, and our kid eats fast. So, as part of my “slow down the eating machine” initiative to teach Maxxi a more relaxed attitude when it comes to wolfing down his chow, we take breaks between bites to drop the spork, count to ten, and sing the alphabet song. Maxxi’s gotten pretty good at counting over the past few weeks, and has counted to 4 (in English and Spanish) on his own more than a few times. But today he floored me when, after hearing the song for about a week, he jumped in right on cue with his ABCs. 22 months. My kid amazes me every day.

Wow – so many new words and tricks lately! Gabbi taught him this one on a recent afternoon walk into town. Other new favorite recent vocab additions: moon, ball, tree, chair, and – so cute! – “ho! ho! ho!”

Before I was blessed with the most adorable and beautiful Son, I was blessed with the love of the most adoring and beautiful Man: my hot husband, my best friend, my soul mate, my lover, my everything — Gabbi Villarrubia. We just celebrated our 5-year wedding anniversary, and this summer will mark 9 years that we have been in love and in each others’ arms. That’s a lot of time to get to know someone; to see them grow and change; watch them become the person they are meant to be, with the right love and partner by their side. It’s a magical gift when you get to fall in love with a new side of your mate, and I am so in love with the Father that my Man has become.

There are times when Maximo’s intense attachment to Mama and my milk can feel challenging to a loving Daddy, bordering on rejection. So it’s been key for Gabbi to create his own special rituals and routines with Maxxi, of which everyone’s favorite is bedtime. Over the past month, in our efforts to separate the strong association Maximo had between nursing and falling asleep, Gabbi has become the official master of bedtime ceremonies in our home. And mastered bedtime he has. If I try to put Maximo to bed without nursing him, he arches his back and tugs at my shirt all through the Great Green Room. But Gabbi hands him his blankee, reads him his night-night books, tucks him into his crib, and has him sleeping out of the palm of his hand in record time. It is their special Baby/Daddy time, and surely a bright spot in both of their days.

This evening, after Maximo drifted off to dreamland with nary a peep, Gabbi came out of the room with a well of tears pooled in his eyes. Tonight, during his bedtime story, Maxxi looked up at his Father, put a tiny hand on his cheek, and said, “Daddy.” Then he said it again, and again. And once more I melt.

Today my son said his first word. For the past few months, he’s entertained us with strings of syllables woven together in melodic little babbles – even piecing together the occasional “da-da” or “ma-ma,” leaving us with hopeful questions in our ears. “Did he…?” “Was that…?” “C’mon, say it again: ‘maaa-maaa’…” But this… this was an honest-to-goodness, repeated, contextually validated w-o-r-d.

“Doggie!”

Yes, doggie. You see, Maximo (son) loves Dulce (dog). She is his size, and, operating on the same level (el floor), they share a playing field. She also keeps him in stitches (the laughing kind, not the bitten kind). So when we heard that adorably nasally “oggie!” for the fourth or fifth time, while Maxxi was pointing at his four-legged sister pal, we weren’t surprised. Maybe a little hurt – I mean, hello? Mommy? Daddy? But his excitement, and ours, at this new skill, this naming of a thing so constant in his world, quickly put our egos in check. Our son was talking. At nine months. It suddenly didn’t matter too much what he said. Or maybe it does. Maybe in his own innocently diplomatic way, our son was avoiding the trap of who’s name to say first. Ma? Pa? Who could make such a choice? …just skip it and go right to the next in line. Smart kid.

In the spirit of first words, I thought I would seize this momentous opportunity to put fingertips to keyboard and start committing my thoughts to digital ink (Oh, My God! Another self-important diatribe is about to be unleashed upon you and the great internet galaxy, dear reader…). So who am I, and what is it that I have to say? I am Andrea Villarrubia (formerly Andrea Stoops for any long-lost-friends cum stalkers). My tribe consists of my most amazing, hot, wonderful, dedicated, loving, amazing (did I say that already?) husband, Gabbi Villarrubia; my beautiful, angelic, prodigal (did I mention he also drinks from a straw? nine months, bitches!) son, Maximo Lobo Roque Villarrubia; and my very sweet, though slightly neurotic Dachshund/Chihuahua (that’s “Salchihuahua” en espanol) pup, Dulce. We live in Sayulita, Mexico, a small bohemian beach town on Mexico’s Riviera Nayarit, and quite possibly the coolest little spot on the globe. Life is good.

So why ¡Que Madre! ? Because Mothering, my new favorite pastime, is cool. Possibly the coolest thing I’ve ever done. Fucking life-changing! Revolutionary! Humbling. Soul-warming, ass-kicking, sweet-mama goodness. Cool. Here in Mexico, there is a saying. When something is super-cool, hip, worthy… we say “¡Que Padre!” (literally, ‘how Fatherly!’). Another similar compliment is to say that something “no tiene Madre”, or “has no Mother.” In a culture that so often puts Mamas up on impossible pedestals, language cuts to the chase. The ultimate insults always invoke some slur on one’s mother, while the highest accolade is to be “father-like.” To this I say, “¡Que Madre! , dammit!” Mommies are COOL! We Rule! We make you, feed you, love you, teach you, change you, heal you, we are you. Kneel before our greatness and sing it to the heavens. Because Mothering is Cool.

So is hearing your baby boy find his voice. Let’s hear it for first words.